


Strange Courtship

by lzg



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Royalty, Schmoop, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 13:56:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lzg/pseuds/lzg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Brad is a desperately self-sacrificing HRH, Nate is not happy about being blind-sided, Ray wants to kill the Swedish press corps, and Walt is present in the background like a good bodyguard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LilredLFC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilredLFC/gifts).



> From a prompt by KariHermione on LJ. This will hop around the timeline a bit, but it shouldn't be too hard to understand.
> 
> Trying to keep this somewhat true to life as far as the Swedish monarchy is concerned, so Brad's background will necessarily have to be different from canon. If it helps, assume that the real Brad was the bastard son of King Carl Gustav, only in this AU, Carl was quicker on the ball re: marriage, okay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Örlogskapten=Lieutenant commander, Marinen=not Marines, but Navy (Sweden's "Marines" are an amphibious arm of the Navy)

It really was all Nate's fault. After his lecture, he was hurrying through a back corridor at the security conference, texting Tom and paying no attention to his surroundings. His Marines would have been ashamed, even if the conference did have security levels that would satisfy a terminal paranoiac.  
  
 _Talk well-received. Heading out for drinks with Tavington before my flight. Will cadjm_  
  
Nate rebounded off of a very solid chest and started to topple sideways when his arms were grabbed firmly and held until he regained his balance. He looked up into a pair of arresting and very amused blue eyes, and from a distance heard a Nordic-tinged voice caution "Careful, Captain Fick. Such poor attentiveness in a Recon Marine can't bode well for your survival prospects."  
  
"Um, okay." He breathed out, slightly hypnotized. Very blue. "I'm sorry for the collision, uh..."  
  
"Örlogskapten Bradley Carl Hans Victor, Swedish Marinen. I attended your talk on training and integrating Afghan security forces. Very interesting. But if I may ask, how do you propose--"  
  
"Excuse me, sir, but we are past due in the Belleau conference room." Nate hadn't even noticed the solidly built, carefully expressionless man standing next to them.  
  
Bradley grimaced, and muttered something in Swedish at his assistant. The poker-faced reply made him frown even more. "My apologies, Captain, but I have an unavoidable and unendurable engagement. Will you be attending the last day of the conference?" He seemed to notice that he still had Nate's arms clasped and released him, looking slightly self-conscious.  
  
"No, actually, I'm flying out tonight." He dug into his bag and pulled out a card. "Here, my e-mail and phone at CNAS and--" he quickly yanked out a pen and scribbled "--some other contacts I can be reached at." He awkwardly offered it.  
  
"Thank you, Captain." Very nice smile, too. They moved past each other, and really, Nate was only human. The glance back was just...examining a foreign military uniform. Right.  
  
Örlogskapten Bradley Carl Hans Victor. Dammit, where had he heard that name before?


	2. First Fight

Although their twice-weekly chats have become something that Nate looks forward to, he dreads the next one. The questions he has to ask will either make him look like an idiot or make Brad look like a bastard.   
  
11:30 pm on the dot, his phone rings. "Good morning, Brad."   
  
"Good evening, Captain. Have the self-devouring policies of your schizophrenic country reducing you to madness yet?"   
  
Nate laughs, but it sounds strained even to him. Over the line, he can just hear Brad shifting position, his ears almost audibly perking up.   
  
"What's wrong, Nate?" The smile is gone from his voice.   
  
"I..." He falls silent, trying to think of some way to ask this that isn't ridiculous.   
  
"Nate?" Brad is almost whispering.   
  
"When exactly were you planning on telling me that you were the Crown Prince of Sweden?"   
  
There is a long silence.   
  
"I thought you knew."   
  
"Don't lie to me. Crown Prince of Sweden, Duke of Västergötland, and you introduce yourself as a Naval Lieutenant Commander."   
  
"I was there in my capacity as a Naval officer. It was entirely proper--"   
  
"And in the past five months, you've never corrected the assumption. Last month I offered to help you pay for a ticket out here; you can't possibly tell me that you didn't know who I thought you were."   
  
"Nate--"   
  
"All the excuses, your duties, you can't get away and I can't make my way there. What the hell were you playing at?"   
  
Another long pause.   
  
"It was never my intention to mislead you, Captain Fick, and I apologize for doing so. In my position, I am usually recognized quite readily, and by the time I realized you had come to an erroneous conclusion, it was...I was..."   
  
"What, Brad?"   
  
His voice is so stiff and cold; Nate doesn't wonder anymore how he gained the tabloid nickname "Ice Prince". "I found myself quite in love with perhaps the only person in the world outside of my family who doesn't think of me as a title. Again, my apologies, Captain. I will not trouble you further."   
  
Nate sits in his study, staring at the dead phone in his hands.


	3. First Outing

This is one of the days when Ray wishes he'd stayed in amphibious assault. As he crosses the lobby, he waves to the doorman, desk clerk, and security officer, all of them accustomed to seeing him in and out at bizarre hours, then punches in the code for His Royal Migraine-ness's apartment and slumps into a corner of the elevator when it arrives. It's not that Ray minds the high tension, fraught situations, or vengeful enemies of his current position as personal aide to the Crown Prince. It's just that, back then, launching a grenade up someone's ass would pretty much take care of all problems, and no one will let him do that to the Swedish press corps. Pussies.   
  
Ray takes a fortifying gulp of espresso as he arrives at Brad's door, then leans on the chime. In under ten seconds, a revoltingly clear-eyed Brad opens the door. "What?" he rasps out.   
  
"Good morning, Princess. Sleep well or not at all?" Ray barges in, unmindful of the early hour or the fact that he's just roused Brad from bed. Judging from the impressive hickey only partially covered by the robe, that bed had someone in it. And Ray knows damn well who.   
  
"Speak quickly or leave, Ray."   
  
For an answer, Ray walks over to the coffee table and spreads out his armful of newspapers, tabloids and respected press alike. They all carry the same front page photo: His Royal Highness, eyes closed and a blissful expression on his face as he cups the cheek of and leans toward an equally blissful-looking strawberry blond man. Beneath the fold is a scanty biography of Nate, obviously cribbed in a good part from Evan Wright's book and the CNAS website.   
  
"Jesus-Buddha-Vishnu  **fuck** , Your Highness, couldn't you at least have picked a nice Swedish boy to satisfy your filthy, deviant lusts?"   
  
" _How did they get this?_ " Ray has only ever heard that tone of voice from Brad once: in Afghanistan, when he was told that his unit could not respond to a distress call because it would put him in too much danger.   
  
"Telephoto something or other. Your security detail is off committing seppuku over the lapse, but more importantly, every political party is currently shitting itself. Today's forecast call for a fucking diarrhetic torrent, buddy, above and beyond the usual shitstorm in Parliament. The Alliance parties because it's a guy, the Sweden Democrats because he's a foreigner, the Social Democrats, Lefts, and Greens because he's a relatively conservative former American Marine, and...well, the Pirate party doesn't care, but they only have two seats, and those are in the European Parliament, so fuck 'em."   
  
Ray flings himself onto a couch. "What the hell, man? I know Julietta fucked you up, but did you have to go give the high hard one to someone who's gonna have everyone in the country out for his blood?"   
  
There is a noise behind him. Ray winces and turns to see an incredibly pale Nate Fick standing in the entrance.   
  
"Ray?"   
  
"What?"   
  
"Leave. Now. Please." From the looks those two are giving each other, Ray does not want to be here when Sweetypie and Snookums have it out.   
  
"Fine. I'm gonna go blow Walter and distract him from his ritual suicide."   
  
"Thank you, Ray."   
  
Not even a twitch or a mocking comment about not giving dear Walt anything antibiotic-resistant. This was serious. As Ray heads to the door, he starts mentally drafting every press release he can think of, and prays a little that Brad won't end up doing something stupid like abdicating for his True Love. Princess Victoria would kill him with her bare, beautifully manicured hands.


	4. First Grenade-Jump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst ahoy! Brad's little rant? He's been ambushed, he's in a lousy mood, he's putting the absolute worst spin on things possible. I don't think most royals are leading lives of glitzy desperation. That being said, all the crap mentioned really did happen to the real Swedish royals. (And Prince Carl Philip was named most beautiful royal by BeautifulPeople.com. ::shudders::)

Nate stares after Ray. "Is he actually going to?"

Brad allows a tired smile to cross his lips. "We have an agreement. He doesn't share significant details about his sex life, and I don't have him posted to Vuoggatjålme. It works."

The silence grows. Nate walks over to the table and sorts through the papers until he finds the only one in English. The Local has the ever-so-tasteful headline "Ice Prince Melts." Most of the rest have similar plays on his nickname, but the stoicism that gained it works against him now. He can feel himself shutting down, growing colder when only a few hours ago he would have sworn that one more touch would ignite them both.

Brad takes a deep breath and lays out the situation for Nate. "Now that you're in their sights, you will be a target, even if you leave the country. The only option for you to retain any privacy is to break things off now, before they really build momentum. It will be somewhat humiliating, but we can pass this off as a one-night stand, and everyone will lose interest."

Why is Nate looking at him like that? He turns away and begins to check the curtains, making sure they're closed.

"What did Ray mean about Julietta fucking you up? She was your old fiancee, wasn't she?"

"Yes, we were engaged once, but it didn't work out, so I ended things. She didn't do too badly, married an old friend of mine. They're still invited to official functions, of course, and I'm their"--Brad swallows old bitterness down hard--"their son's godfather. We are all still good friends." He turns to face Nate with a tight smile. "Very good."

"If your jaw gets any tighter, you'll need to visit the royal dentist."

Brad lets out a sharp exhalation, spitting air between his teeth, and turns around again. Somehow this is easier when he can't see Nate. "My father had to wait until the king died before he could marry my mother, because his grandfather wanted him to marry royalty, not a commoner. People have speculated about his fidelity, his learning disabilities, his father's death. They called my mother's father a Nazi. Victoria developed an eating disorder because she felt like food was the only thing she could control about her life. Her boyfriend has almost been driven away by all the speculation about their relationship. This life is glamorous and privileged and without freedom and utterly pointless, and everyone around you tries to tear you apart if they can. Shiny crowns and hand waving in parades, and you have to listen to men dying, men your unit could have saved if the fucking Crown Prince wasn't too important to risk."

He's blind now, his body rigid.

"At least in intelligence I can pretend that I'm actually making some kind of real contribution to my country that couldn't be made by a pretty robot. But it isn't enough that this life is draining me, it has to latch on to everyone around me as well."

"Julietta."

Brad laughs. "Maybe she could have handled it if they'd confined themselves to her. But dragging up every parking ticket, criticizing the clothes she went grocery shopping in, and then piling on her family and friends...She begged me to break it off. And I did. I made myself into some asshole royal, toying with a virtuous maiden's affections so that they'd focus on me, not her."

Nate's arms wrap around him, but they don't soften him. Softness and sentimentality are pointless.

"They'll go after you with even greater bloodlust: reporters, politicians, every zit-faced inbred moron with blogging software. And for what? The chance to lead an over-exposed, meaningless existence? It's not worth it, Nate."

"My God, you're full of bullshit."

Surprise twists him around.

Nate is smiling as he holds up one hand. A thumb. "Marine." Forefinger. "Recon." Pinky. "Afghanistan." Ring finger. "Iraq." Now the middle, in glorious isolation. "Fuck them," he grates out, and his smile is considerably more cold-blooded.

"As for the rest of it, maybe we won't work out. Maybe in three months you won't be able to stand me, or the spark will go out, or something will come up, but Brad? Don't martyr me before it's absolutely necessary, okay?"

Brad smiles, huffs out a laugh. "All right."

Maybe.

 


	5. First Apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set about a week after chapter two.

To: b.victor@must.mil.se  
From: nate.fick@gmail.com  
Date: 02 February 2008 (02.02.2008)  
Re: I'm sorry  
  
Brad-  
  
During OIF, I lost men under my command because we were given incorrect information, because others were given no information, because intelligence was withheld from us. Command stupidity or the fog of war, it doesn't change the fact that I dragged Evan Wright out of a burning Humvee with half his leg gone because our command knew that there was an ambush ahead and never told me. The four men riding point with Wright died. They weren't the last. I resigned my commission because of disgust with the manner in which our commanders expected us to function when they would not give us the information we needed to accomplish our missions or keep our men safe.  
  
I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. Unfortunately, my embarrassment at missing the hints to your identity was compounded by a deep personal aversion for situations in which information is kept from me. I apologize for what I said and how I reacted. We each seem to have had our own reasons for the progression of events which have led us here, and they have put us at odds in a way that I never wanted. I don't know if it's possible for us to mend this, but I would like to try.  
  
-Nate  
  
  
To: nate.fick@gmail.com  
From: b.victor@must.mil.se  
Date: 02 Februari 2008 (02.02.2008)  
Re: Re: I'm sorry  
  
Autosvar: Jag har fått som en tillfällig observatör i FN uppdrag i Sudan från 01 februari 2008 till 01 april 2008. Som Internet kan begränsas, skicka all korrespondens genom den militära underrättelse-och säkerhetstjänsten.  
  
Autoreply: I have been assigned as a temporary observer to the United Nations Mission in the Sudan from 01 February 2008 to 01 April 2008. As Internet access may be limited, please send all correspondence through the Military Intelligence and Security Service.  
  
  
To: nate.fick@gmail.com  
From: b.victor@must.mil.se  
Date: 09 Februari 2008 (09.02.2008)  
Re: Re: I'm sorry  
  
We'll speak when I return.  
  
I meant what I said. I still do.


	6. First Inklings

To: nate.fick@gmail.com  
From: b.victor@must.mil.se  
Date: 02 April 2008 (02.04.2008)  
Re: Re: I'm sorry  
  
Tomorrow, 8 pm your time?  
  
  
To: b.victor@must.mil.se  
From: nate.fick@gmail.com  
Date: 02 April 2008 (02.04.2008)  
Re: Re: Re: I'm sorry  
  
Yes  
  
  
When the phone rings, Nate grabs for it so quickly that he almost knocks the whole thing to the floor. "Hello?"  
  
"Hello, Captain." Brad sounds exhausted.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
"My latest assignment has been draining in many ways."  
  
"And I doubt I helped."  
  
Brad's quiet huff of laughter is the only answer.  
  
"I don't know what to say or how to say it. I never stopped to consider why you'd been keeping that from me."  
  
"And I was so caught up in enjoying the novelty of someone unaware that I never considered how you would react. I read Wright's book, you know. The part where you came to see him at Bethesda was...painful."  
  
"He was my responsibility, the same as the rest of them. I owed him an explanation, at the least."  
  
"I have the same responsibility, Nate. Only it's to an entire nation and I can't resign it. That was what made it so attractive, to have someone who wasn't expecting anything out of me except for an analysis of the growing instability of those lunatics in Russia."  
  
"You were completely wrong about that."  
  
"So says the man whose country has never lost real estate to those fuckers."  
  
Nate laughs and feels a little more hopeful. "Are we...okay?"  
  
"Käre Gud, I can feel this conversation shrinking my testicles."  
  
"We can't have that. I might have use for them." He puts as much heat into those words as he can without feeling like some cheap porn writer.  
  
"Vad?"  
  
"Fascinating as your insights into the post-Soviet Baltic regions are, that wasn't the reason I gave you my card."  
  
"You only wanted me for my body? Nate, how crude. At least I wanted you for your body and your understanding of security in Afghanistan."  
  
Hope flares more brightly.  
  
"Well, our mutual appreciation won't come to much if we're stuck on separate continents. I have some vacation time coming up. Anything interesting in Sweden this time of the year?"  
  
"I'm sure I can find something."


	7. First Summons

The ringing phone startles them both out of their quiet reverie. Brad strides quickly over to the phone to answer, in Swedish. Nate is really going to have to learn the language, if only so he can eavesdrop and understand what Brad yells during sex.  
  
The low conversation rises sharply, in tone and volume, before Brad slams the receiver down so hard, Nate almost ducks to avoid any shrapnel.  
  
When Brad speaks to Nate, it's through gritted teeth. "I have been summoned to Drottningholm." At Nate's confused look, he adds "My father. And mother, probably."  
  
"Do you want me come with you?"  
  
Brad sighs, then abruptly engulfs Nate in his arms. "No. I think it would only add gas to the fire. They thought you were only a friend, had no idea I was even interested in men, so...this is not a happy surprise. Lately, I seem to be making a habit of keeping my loved ones in the dark and pissing them off."  
  
"We worked it out. If you think there will be a problem, then maybe I should be backing you up." Nate's not about to let Brad face down his family by himself.  
  
Brad smiles. "I think I can face this field of battle alone, Captain. Besides, I think...I think this is more unhappiness at keeping something important from them, rather than actual anger at my actions in," he snickers a little, "Courting someone unsuitable."  
  
"This is Swedish courtship? Months of international policy debate, a holiday where we only kissed a few times, and one where we've barely gotten out of bed all week?" Nate shakes his head. "You're all insane."  
  
"Speaking of madness, would you like me to send Ray up while I'm gone? I'll be taking Walt with me, so he'll be at loose ends, and I fear what he might do to the press outside if he has time to be creative." Carefully left unsaid is the fact that Nate certainly won't be leaving this apartment, possibly until he has to fly back to Washington.  
  
"Yeah, okay. I'm sure he'd be more than willing to share intel." Nate smiles beatifically up at Brad. He looks worried. Good. 

Fifteen minutes later, showered, shaved, and dressed in civvies, Brad heads out. As promised, Ray arrives to "keep your sweetheart occupied, princess. He shouldn't be too worn out by the time you get back."  
  
As soon as Brad's gone, plowing through paparazzi like an icebreaker, Nate turns to Ray with a smile that is polite, and pleasant, yet somehow makes Ray's sphincter pucker. "You've known him longer, Ray, so tell me honestly: what kind of shape will he be in when he comes back?"  
  
Ray flops into an armchair. "Look, his parents love him. Not that tolerant, don't screw up and we will occasionally bestow public affection on you shit, but really. Okay, so his dad's a little emotionally fucked up around family, but he tries. And the Queen usually makes up for anything he screws up. They're probably just going to do to same thing anybody does when they suddenly find out their boy's a poofter on the front page of every major newspaper in the country: freak out, ask if this is a phase, try to talk him out of it, freak out a little more, then cry, hug, and have smörgas."  
  
"He seemed to think it might not go that well."  
  
"In case you haven't noticed, Brad has a goddamned martyr complex wider than this country. Three, four hundred years ago, he would have been leading cavalry charges, planning land-grabbing campaigns as far as the eye could see, and engaging in political maneuvers against every country in existence. Now? He can't actually rule, since the monarchy's lost everything but ceremonial power. He can't go out and risk his life, because he's too important a symbol. So his little RoboPrince fuses blow and he tries to sacrifice everything else that he can. Relationships, happiness, people, he's a hero looking for a grenade to fall on."  
  
"I'm starting to understand that."  
  
"Don't let him. He's the best friend a buck-toothed Sami like me is ever going to get. Also, if Brad's heart gets broken, Princess Victoria will kill us. And Carl and Madeleine will pile on, too. It would be a very attractive massacre."  
  
That level of devotion is obliquely cheering, and from what Nate's seen of the people around Brad, pretty standard.  
  
"Enough. Tell me something else about him, Ray."  
  
"Hmm. He genuinely likes ABBA, which I'm chalking up to them singing for the Queen when Brad was a fetus and it causing some kind of birth defect. Never, ever get into a speedboat if he's at the helm unless you've got a bottle of dimenhydrinate or are unconscious."  
  
"Bad helmsman or speed freak?"  
  
"Speed freak who makes the boat do things that would cause an engineer to shit himself. Carl's a licensed racecar driver, so it has to be something genetic."  
  
"Go on."  
  
Nate leans back, and tries not to watch the clock.

 


	8. First Announcement

_**Royal Engagement--You Got It Here First!** _  
  
Ever since the Riksdag pushed through the marriage equality act, social pages have been buzzing with speculation over whether His Most Confirmed Bachelorness would be taking the plunge with his delicious boyfriend of two years, Nathaniel Fick. Unfortunately, as you all know, the Lutheran Church of Sweden is required to perform any royal marriages, which meant that the poor boys were stalled until our ministers could get in gear. But yesterday, the assembly finally removed the last formal obstacle to the first gay royal wedding ever!  
  
Of course, there's the little manner of Prince Tall, Blond, and Gorgeous actually proposing. But today? Our Sources, who are ever-so-reliable (for very good reasons), have informed us that the hunky American hero is winging his way here, presumably with a citizenship application and Lutheran conversion form clutched in his manly grip. Speculate? Do we really need to?  
  
  
 _**Royal Family Contemplates Suit Against American Westboro Baptist Church** _  
  
Two and a half years ago, the pastor of the Westboro Baptist Church accused the King of Sweden of being "King of Sodomite Whores," after His Majesty expressed disapproval in the case of a Swedish pastor who was acquitted of inciting hatred against homosexuals.  
  
Today, the Church has found a new target, as the Crown Prince has announced his engagement to Mr. Nathaniel Fick, of Maryland, USA. In a prepared statement, the Church denounced the Prince and his betrothed as "filthy perverts," whose "degenerate so-called marriage" will "incur the wrath of God, not only upon their own heads, but upon the heads of all their subjects who acquiesce to such deviancy." Their website has produced pictures of the two men with superimposed target sights, contact information for the think-tank Mr. Fick formerly worked for, as well as the pictures, phone numbers, and addresses of several family members.  
  
Joshua Persson, an aide to the Prince, said the palace was looking at possible action under Swedish hate crime laws as well as possible alternatives within the American justice system.  
  
“We are looking at what can be done, and working closely with the American Bureau of Investigation to determine what, if any, crimes against Mr. Fick or his family may have been committed,” he said. "At the very least, the publication of their personal information constitutes harassment and breach of privacy unprotected by this alleged church's Freedom of Speech rights."  
  
Fred Phelps, whose Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas, is mainly made up of family members, has continuously tested the US’s free speech laws to the limit. He and his fellow religious zealots claim US soldiers are dying because America has given rights to homosexuals, and frequently picket their funerals.  
  
  
 _**Support For Monarchy Surges** _  
  
In a surprising development, SIFO announced today that support for the monarchy has surged in recent months. Over 75% of Swedes surveyed expressed support of the monarch, while just 14% favored its abolition. These numbers are respectively the highest and lowest ever reached since the polls have been conducted.  
  
Speculation over the recent change includes the engagements of Crown Prince Bradley and Princess Victoria to commoners, the Prince's more outspoken and amiable behavior, and his fiance's friendly demeanor and openness with the Swedish people.  
  
Social commentator Niclas Carlgren notes: "The Crown Prince, whose cold, remote presence garnered him the nickname 'Ice Prince,' has become noticeably more approachable, even displaying a sardonic sense of humor at times. This, combined with Andrea Nilsson's unprecedented photographical series documenting his life with Mr. Fick, has brought about a feeling of camaraderie from his future subjects. They see their future King as a man who works diligently for the Swedish people, plays cards with his staff, has an obsession with speedboats, plays practical jokes, banters with his boyfriend, and panics when a child spits up on him. They see him as human, and in a good way."


	9. Wedding (Jitters)

In a small dressing room in the Stockholm Cathedral:   
  
"You're nervous."   
  
"Fuck off, Ray." Brad is pacing, and if Ray didn't know him better, he'd swear the man looked like he was about to be ill.   
  
"I don't believe this. The eyes of Sweden on you for how many years? And you pick now to get freaked out."   
  
"It's perfectly traditional. As I recall, you needed six shots of akvavit to make it down the aisle."   
  
"Details."   
  
"You lapsed into Sami halfway through the ceremony, and Walt said you smelled like a distillery."   
  
"He still married me!" Ray speaks with the euphoria of one who knows he got lucky, and has been getting very lucky on a regular basis for nearly a year.   
  
"I wonder how many blows to the head he actually took during training or if he's just a masochist."   
  
"You'd know."   
  
"What?"   
  
"What are you really worried about, Brad: flubbing your lines while 1200 guests and a couple million people watch, or that Nate's going to rabbit?"   
  
"Shut up, Ray."   
  
"International tabloids, international death threats, and your dad couldn't buy, scare, or intimidate him away. He was gracious to the Christian Democrats and didn't blink when Hägglund snubbed him. He gave up his career and his fucking country to learn half a dozen foreign languages and be lectured to about etiquette and public relations. Do you honestly think that he'd leave or are you indulging in your usual I lead a life of privileged desperation self-pitying?"   
  
"Shut. Up."   
  
"For once would you just accept that good things can happen to you and leave it? You're about to marry a highly intelligent, reasonably attractive man who, for whatever reason, thinks you deserve him. Take the win." Ray pulls out a flask. "Here, calm your nerves. Least I can do."   
  
Brad grabs the flask, pops the stopper, and takes a gulp. His eyes widen after the first draft.   
  
"Cold coffee? Really shitty coffee?"   
  
"Do you know what Nate promised to do to me if I let you get plastered? There were lemmings and several highly unorthodox applications of tracked military vehicles involved."   
  
Brad laughs until he chokes, then turns as Walt opens the door.   
  
"Time, Your Highness."   
  
Ray is startled as Brad pulls him up into a quick, crushing bearhug, drops him, and strides out.   
  
His husband is watching with a raised eyebrow. "Something I should know, Ray?"   
  
"Yeah. Man, am I glad this is going to be over soon."   
  
"Amen."


	10. First Wedding (Last, too, if either of them have anything to say about it)

He'd expected the walk down the the aisle to take an eternity.   
  
News cameras are everywhere. Thankfully all video and none photographic, otherwise someone would have had a seizure.   
  
The Stockholm Cathedral is packed with over a thousand guests. His family, Nate's family, their friends from childhood, school, and their respective services. The bulk of the guests are other members of royalty and people it was polite and politic to invite, since even at the most tenuous connection, he and Nate didn't know enough people to fill the cathedral for a "friends and family" wedding. The Catholic and Pentecostal leaders had sent their regrets, of course, but Brad can't give a shit. Let them bitch about how the breakdown of society is represented by a wedding; in a few moments, Nate will be his. Forever.   
  
Then it seems that he blinks, and they are at the altar.   
  
For the rest of his life, he can't remember most of the ceremony.  _Just the important part,_  he always laughs, seeing an answering amusement in his husband's eyes.   
  
_Do you Bradley Carl Hans Victor take this man Nathaniel Christopher Fick to be your husband, and to love him, keep him, honor and cherish him, for better and for worse, until death part you?  
  
I do._   
  
He can barely hear the Archbishop through the roaring in his ears.   
  
_Do you Nathaniel Christopher Fick take this man Bradley Carl Hans Victor to be your husband, and to love him, keep him, honor and cherish him, for better and for worse, until death part you?  
  
I do._   
  
During one of the unending string of rehearsals, Nate had answered with a perfectly straight face,  _Min svävare är full av ålar_ , and now Brad has to choke down an abrupt, joyous peal of laughter. He is his, and he is his, and nothing can take him away. The gap-toothed reindeer herder sniffling in a pew was right. Good things can happen. Brad is so transfixed in sudden delight that his brother has to subtly kick him to get the ring into his shaking hands.   
  
Nate's smile is understanding, and a bit nervous as well, and when the rings are exchanged they squeeze hands together for a moment, hard, feeling the new wedding bands shifting into place.   
  
This is real, and true, and his. Now and always.


End file.
